


Bond to Break

by Zai42



Series: Gore/Kinktober Prompts [30]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amnesia, Blood and Gore, Eye Trauma, Memory stealing, Other, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 00:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16459871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: Jon's always been stubborn.Prompt: Missing Eye





	Bond to Break

The Archivist had curled himself into a corner, made himself small and unthreatening. His eyes were wide, vacant, stared into the room without seeing it. He was crying, but Helen didn't think he knew that. The body of the Watcher lay where it had fallen, empty.

  
"M-Michael--no," the Archivist said, his voice strained. "No, you're--"

  
"You called me Helen, once," Helen said, gently. "I'm Michael, too. I'm getting better at not being either of them. Do you have a preference?"

  
The Archivist's eyes flicked from Helen to the hollow body before him. "M-Michael?" he said. Michael didn't know if he was answering its question or asking for an identity; either way, it found itself laughing.

  
"Oh, Archivist, you _are_ powerful," it said, flexing its fingers. "Do you realize what's happening?"

  
The Archivist clutched at his head; he couldn't close any of his eyes, of course, and Michael watched the tears well up and spill over. "It's--I--we?"

  
"Oh, poor thing," Michael sighed. "I can't say I know much about you and all your eyes, but I imagine Seeing so much must be overwhelming."

  
The Archivist groaned, pressed his palms to his open eyes. "See--see--"

  
"A pity your Watcher left you so soon," Michael said over the Archivist's babbling. It wandered over the the corpse, nudged it onto its back to look into the empty sockets where the eyes had been. "You overwhelmed him so quickly. Was he surprised?"

  
"Surprise--" the Archivist muttered. "It was so much, so fast, like a river. He went under. I--" The Archivist lowered his hands. "I ate him."

  
"Something like that, yes," Michael said. "And others."

  
The Archivist let out a shuddering breath. "No, I--I didn't mean to," he said, oddly coherent, oddly human.

  
"Didn't you?" Michael asked, giggling. "I imagine I'll go, soon, too. A river, yes...a black hole, maybe. You pull. It's just that my edges keep catching on things."

  
"H..." The Archivist stumbled to his feet, lurched towards the bent creature before him, grasped wildly for purchase at the place where Michael's shoulders should be. Michael was only a little startled when he managed to find them. "Help me," the Archivist begged, ragged. His eyes bore into Michael and the pull intensified; Michael scrambled for an anchor and found it, in the scrap of stubborn resistance still somewhere in those eyes.

  
"Help you?"

  
_"Stop_ this," the Archivist--or the Archivist's chrysalis--demanded. His fingers tightened. "End it. You can end it. Like I ended you."

  
_"I_ didn't ask you to," Michael pointed out, but its hands came up to cradle the Archivist's skull between its fingers. "Stubborn Archivist," it said, something like fondness in its tone.

  
"Michael," Jon said.

  
"This is going to hurt," Michael said, and plunged its thumbs into his eyes.

* * *

Martin couldn't remember his mother's face. He was pretty sure he was okay with that, but he couldn't quite recall, as if the knowledge had been plucked from his head. _Eaten,_ he thought, and shoved the thought away as he descended deeper into the tunnels. It wasn't important right now. The Archivist was important--no, not the Archivist, but Martin didn't remember what his name was, so that would have to do.

  
There was movement ahead of him, and Martin sped up; whatever was moving had hands like knives, and Martin broke into a sprint.

  
"A-Archivist!" Martin yelled, and it didn't feel right, but it was the best he could do. Something had gone very wrong.

  
The shape in front of him stopped, turned to face him; the Archivist hung limply at its side, one arm slung over what passed for its neck. Black blood dripped sluggishly to the floor, though the Archivist had his face downturned, so Martin couldn't pinpoint its origin. "He is in _very_ bad shape," said the thing with knives for hands, and passed the Archivist to Martin without protest.

  
"What did you _do?"_ Martin asked, sinking to his knees. He cradled the Archivist in his arms, tilting his face towards the scant light--and oh, god, so that was where the blood was coming from.

  
"Nothing he didn't ask me to," laughed the thing. "He sabotaged his own ritual--have you ever heard of such a thing?"

  
"Oh," Martin said weakly, using his sleeve to try to mop away some of the bloody, gelatinous mess oozing from the Archivist's empty eye sockets. "I--I don't--"

  
"I imagine not," the thing said, a mockery of gentleness. "And you won't for quite some time."

  
And then it was gone, leaving Martin alone, kneeling in the dark with a man whose name he had forgotten. 


End file.
